


promises to you that i can't keep

by fits_in_frames



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: F/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-09
Updated: 2008-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:41:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1498759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fits_in_frames/pseuds/fits_in_frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'll only be an hour," she says, "at the most."</p>
            </blockquote>





	promises to you that i can't keep

**Author's Note:**

> _but i've got no secrets that i battle in my sleep_  
>  _i've only promises to you that i can't keep_  
>  {split enz // stuff and nonsense}  
> 
> 
> Written for Porn Battle V ([original comment](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/344051.html?thread=15870451#t15870451)).

The first time she slipped the keycard out of her husband's suit jacket, there was a rush that went through her, like a wave on the shore. It was fresh and new, then, but now, two years later, she knows the motions well (she memorizes them in her spare time, waiting only for the moment when she can go back), and it's almost purely habitual. She pauses by Nathan's room and considers going in for a moment, but decides she'd better be on her way, just like always.

She hates taking a taxi, but she can't risk going by train--trains this late at night have that smell to them, and Arthur would know, right away--so she slips the driver an extra twenty and asks him to wait for her.

"I'll only be an hour," she says, "at the most."

She takes the elevator to the seventh floor, and finds the cell easily, inserts the card, steps inside. She's going to tell him, straight away, that they can't be doing this anymore, that she's _pregnant_ for God's sake, but he's there, waiting for her, eyes shining in the dark, and the moment he comes up behind her as she's locking the door, she's lost to him, turning to kiss him fiercely and digging her nails into his arms, not worrying about leaving marks.

He push-walks her over to the bed, gets her shirt up over her head, caresses her naked breasts. He lets her fall, gently, into the vague moonlight, and she lets him pin her to the mattress (her wrists with his hands, her hips with his knees). He kisses at her neck, her collarbone, a trail of kisses down her chest, her belly, then drags his tongue back up to her mouth and devours it. She gets her knee up, somehow, and presses it into his groin, relishing his little moan of pleasure reverberating in her mouth. She smiles coyly when he pulls away.

"So that's how it is, eh?" he whispers, and releases one of her wrists so he can untie the drawstring on his pajama bottoms and push them down to his knees. She hooks her thumb under the waistband of her skirt and panties and wriggles out of both, and all the while, he tongues at the hollow in her throat and she tugs on the cartilage in his ear, gently, with her teeth. She leaves her hand down, to guide him in, but he knows by now, he knows her motions and her weaknesses so well that she doesn't even know he's inside her until he's not anymore.

He fucks her, like he always fucks her--silent, dark, pleading her to draw him in, and she curls her legs around his waist and obliges, because Adam Monroe is the only man she's never been able to say no to. He fucks her deep and hard, and when he comes, she bucks her hips up and presses her heel into his spine in response. She lets him collapse into her, smelling the sweat in his hair and hoping, praying, that none of it rubs off on her.

"I'm pregnant," she whispers into the top of his head.

"Is it mine?" he breathes against her chest.

"I'm not sure." She strokes the hair on the back of his neck. "Probably."

"Mmm," he says. "I'm sorry."

"I know," she says, and lets him listen to her heartbeat until he dozes off. She leaves only when he starts to snore, softly.

(By the time she makes it to the taxi, she's nearly forgotten the touch of his fingertips, and that, more than anything else--more than his undying need, more than his nonchalance, more than the fact that despite it all, she'll be back next week--makes her weep quietly the whole way home.)


End file.
